The Beat of a Heart
by Jania Jitsu
Summary: The story of one man's "quest" to marry a woman he doesn't really love so he can inherit money he doesn't really want. Complete with a semi-sinister relative, moody bird, meddling maid, and friends who never could keep out of trouble.
1. Take Me Home

  
***Title**: The Beat of a Heart (Part One- Take Me Home)  
***Author**: Jania Jitsu  
***Disclaimer**: Moulin Rouge belongs to Baz Lurhmann, I suppose. It certainly doesn't belong to me! Although I wouldn't mind an Ewan, if you can spare . . .  
***Feedback**: jania_jitsu@yahoo.com   
***Category**: Drama, Angst, and Humor scattered about. May end up a romance. It depends on how I decide to develop this. I have two really good ideas.  
***Summary**: Christian's father dies and he is forced to return home. This is always difficult, but when you've left your heart behind it's just painful. If you're looking for a sequel that's basically the original movie with name changes, you'd best stay clear.   
***Spoilers**: Erm . . . _yeah_. If you haven't seen _Moulin Rouge_, then get the hell out of here and into a Blockbuster! (Or Hollywood Video, or grocery store, or whatever.)  
***Rating**: It'll probably hit PG-13 some time. Mine usually do. : )  
  
***Warnings/Notes**: All right, this is my first actual _Moulin Rouge_ fic. (I've written poetry before.) I've never really read any _Moulin Rouge_ fanfiction (just summaries) so I don't know if anyone's ever had this idea before. I just thought I'd give _Moulin Rouge_ fics a try, but I wanted to do something both original and plausible. I got this idea when I was baby-sitting the day after watching my _Moulin Rouge_ DVD.  
  
By the way, they never gave Christian a surname, did they? If they did please let me know, but I've labeled him "Stratton" for now. I also made up his age based on how old he looked in the movie (twenty-two) even though I'm not very good at guessing people's ages. Oh, and Tom Riddle isn't THE Tom Riddle, I just liked the name. (If you don't know what I'm talking about then don't worry about it.)  
  
  
  
  
  


_This story is about Love.   
The woman I Loved is... dead..._

  
  
  
  
  
  
The room had been emptied the previous day. The papers were taken off the walls and the typewriter was carefully packed into a box. The clothes were taken out of the dresser and folded neatly into suitcases. The bed was made ready for the arrival of the next occupant, whomever and whenever that might be.  
The room was very peaceful in the quiet. It was strange and devoid of life where life had once been so abundant. Life had once been strewn across the furniture and hung out the windows, and sent up to the roof because there simply wasn't enough space to hold it all in that little room.  
Things change, of course. The first occupant of the room had left months before. Now, finally, the second had found the will and reason to go as well.   
  
  
  
  


o - }---)---) ~*~ (---(---{ - o

  
  
  
  
  
_So long ago I don't remember when--  
that's when they say I lost my only frien.d  
Well, they said she died easy of a broken heart disease  
as I listened through the cemetery trees.  
I see the sun coming up at the funeral at dawn,  
the long broken arm of human law.  
It always seemed such a waste,  
she always had a pretty face.  
I wondered why she hung around this place.  
...  
I'm so alone, and I feel just like somebody else.  
I ain't changed, but I know I ain't the same.  
But somewhere here in between   
the city walls of dying dreams  
I think of death, it must be killing me._   
  
  
  
  


o - }---)---) ~*~ (---(---{ - o

  
  
  
  
  
Christian Stratton was finally home in London, England. He wasn't quite sure whether he was happy about this or not.  
Vaguely, Christian knew that getting away from Montmartre, from France, and from the ruins of the Moulin Rouge was good for him. He also vaguely knew that he could not hole up inside himself forever. Satine had been dead for two years and his book had been sent to publishers in both England and France. It was being put into print. There was no reason for Christian to stay in France. It would only hurt him more.  
Christian had never been one for doing what was best, though. He was a sensitive young man of emotions. He unconsciously followed his emotions like a strange religion, placing them on his sleeve for all to see.  
Christian's emotions would have had him stay in his little room forever, writing poetry to his dead lover until someone discovered one day that he, too, had died. Christian would have been miserable, but somehow content in his misery- it would be the misery that _he_ chose for himself.  
Then Christian's father had died, requiring Christian to come home and claim his inheritance, or let it go to Cousin Alphonse.  
Father and Alphonse always _did_ have a way of spoiling things for Christian.   
  
  
  
  


o - }---)---) ~*~ (---(---{ - o

  
  
  
  
  
Tom Riddle and Rick Ellison stood at the train station. They were waiting for their long-lost friend, who was finally coming back from his adventuring off in France. Tom, Rick, and Robert- who had business to attend to and could not come to the station- had joked about this for the past three years. ("I don't like you, Rick." "Well, then, I think I'll just join Christian in France! They seem to have lots of fun there, after all!")  
Secretly, though, they were all jealous. Christian, the youngest of them and currently twenty-six, had gone off on an Adventure. He hadn't written, or even telegrammed from France. The last they'd heard from him was at his home, where they watched with surprise as he packed and told them with shining eyes about his plan.  
The plan was nothing complicated. He was going to France to become a writer. He was going to a place where he would be free to uphold his four pillars of Truth, Beauty, Freedom, and Love. These four words were always capitalized when Christian spoke. He had a vitality about him that could do that to a person: it could inspire and uplift and even capitalize nouns that weren't proper.  
Naturally, Tom, Rick, and Robert couldn't wait to hear of Christian's Adventures. This was another word that was always capitalized. Adventure was an obscure thing to Tom. Like a beautiful courtesan: something one wanted very much, but would never have. Tom personally felt the loss of both.  
"Do you see him?" Tom asked Rick. They were searching through the crowds that had stepped off the train, but had not yet found Christian.  
Rick shook his head. "Nope. Wait . . . oh my God. That _is_ him. Jesus, Tom, look! That's Christian!"  
Tom looked over where Rick was pointing. But, surely, this could not be fun, vibrant Christian. This man was tired and jaded- not at all like the straight-backed, poetry-spouting, twinkle-eyed boy Tom used to know.  
"What the hell did he do in France?" Tom wondered aloud.  
Tom walked up to the man and touched his shoulder. "_Christian_?" he asked, a frown beginning to form on his face. Who was this man? It could not be Christian! Christian was full of life! This man looked dead, though he was certainly still breathing.  
The man turned around and smiled. It was a sad smile and it did not reach his eyes, but it was Christian's nonetheless.  
"Tom," he said warmly. "Rick."  
Tom smiled and, like Christian's, it was a weaker version of his usually bright grin.  
"Sorry about your father," Rick said promptly. Tom elbowed him and he winced.  
"It's all right," Christian said. "We weren't close."  
Tom knew that they had been when Christian was very young, but Christian had hit a hopeless romantic stage when he turned fourteen and he never grew out of it, much to the chagrin of his father.  
Christian had changed a lot then but his friends had gotten used to it, taking every new discovery in stride. Now it seemed they would have to rediscover Christian once more.  
'_What happened?_' Tom wondered again.   
  
  
  
  


o - }---)---) ~*~ (---(---{ - o

  
  
  
  
  
Christian looked at the headstone dispassionately. He had missed the funeral. He really didn't care. His father never liked him- why should Christian feel sad? And, after the death of Satine, how could he feel any _more_ sad? The truth was that, even though it had been two years, Christian still was not ready to rejoin the world.  
Unfortunately, he was about to be shoved into the world again . . . with or without his consent.   
  
  
  
  


o - }---)---) ~*~ (---(---{ - o

  
  
  
  
  
Tom sat in the carriage nervously, watching Christian stare at his own father's grave and wondering if he should tell his friend about the exact conditions of the dead father's will.  
It probably wasn't a good idea. It would make Christian even more unhappy, and he had to deal with so much already.  
And it really wasn't any of Tom's business, anyway. Leave it to the lawyers- that was all they were good for.  
Tom settled back into his seat and sighed. This was going to be difficult. Or maybe not. They had talked on the way over to the graveyard, and Christian didn't seem to uphold his same ideals anymore. Actually, the only one he had dropped was love.  
'_What _happened_ in France?_' Tom wondered for the millionth time since the old friends had reunited.   
  
  
  
  


o - }---)---) ~*~ (---(---{ - o

  
  
  
  
  
That night, as Christian slept, he dreamt.  
_He was searching for Her. She was near, but so very far away! He couldn't find Her. Everything was shrouded in a dense fog.  
He called out Her name and heard Her laugh.  
"I'm the green fairy!" She called in Her melodious voice. "Come find me Christian!"  
All he could see was Her cerulean blue eyes burning through the mists. They were beckoning him, as was Her voice: "Come, Christian. Find me!"  
He shivered and she began to sing; her voice coming as naturally as if she spoke.  
"Closing time- open all the doors and let you out into the world.  
Closing time- time for you to go out to the places you will be from.  
Closing time- one last call for alcohol, so finish your whiskey or beer.  
Closing time- you don't have to go home, but you can't stay here.  
  
"I know who I want to take me home.  
I know who I want to take me home.  
I know who I want to take me home. . . . Take me home . . .  
Closing time- every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end. . . ."_   
  
  
  
  
o - }---)---) ~*~ (---(---{ - o   
  
  
**Author's Note**: Okay, now an explanation for how I do songs. Moulin Rouge is a very music-oriented movie. That's how they convey emotions and story. It would almost be a crime to exclude music to the little sequel that I'm writing. Sometimes in a song, though, you don't want to use all the lyrics.  
See the example of "One Headlight" above, which is by the Wallflowers. I didn't want to use the chorus, so I put three periods with no spaces in between (...) to show that I'm abridging the song.  
As opposed to three periods with spaces in between each (. . .) signifies a drawn-out note or long pause.  
I chopped up "Closing Time" (by Semisonic) so badly, however, that it would be impractical to make all the proper notations, so I'll just say in this note that I chopped it up horrendously. (That's where this chapter's title comes from, by the way.)  
By the way, I really suggest that you download/obtain the songs that I put in here, because they're all really good!  
Whew. Okay, that's it for this part. Hopefully I won't ever have so many notes again. It's just that this is the first part and I have a lot to explain.   
  
  
  



	2. Here Comes My Girl

  
  
  
***Title**: The Beat of a Heart (Part Two- Here Comes My Girl)  
***Author**: Jania Jitsu  
***Disclaimer**: _Moulin Rouge_ belongs to Baz Lurhmann, I suppose. It certainly doesn't belong to me! Although I wouldn't mind an Ewan, if you can spare . . .  
***Feedback**: jania_jitsu@yahoo.com   
***Author's Note**: Sorry it took so long. I've been terribly busy lately and haven't had the time to post! And then I was going to post Part Two, but I decided to combine it with Part Three. (This was after I combined parts three and four!) Whew. So, sorry, but there may be good time in between parts.   
  
A big thank you to everyone who answered my questions. Apparently in the script Christian's last name is James. I've gotten used to Stratton, though, so I'll think I'll keep it because they never actually said his last name in the movie. I can squeak by canon like that. : ) By the way, did anyone else notice the Lockwood/Stratton thing? I didn't until just now. (I subconsciously put in two last names from a really good book trilogy. Anyone know what it is? Brownie points!)   
  
  
  
  
  
Tom sat with Rick in the hallway. He fidgeted in his chair; so uncomfortable that he was unable to keep still any longer. The chairs were fine, comfort-wise. It was the waiting that was getting to Tom. Christian had gone into a room- the room they were sitting outside, actually- with a lawyer to discuss the terms of the will and they hadn't come out yet. Tom knew that wills generally took a while, especially when one had to find good loopholes, but that didn't help his impatience any.   
  
Tom had been at the original reading of the will, and he knew that there were some things in the document that would, at the very least, upset Christian. Then again, Christian wasn't really the same person anymore. Tom felt as if he hardly knew the man who had come back from France claiming to be Tom's childhood friend. It was bizarre and a little creepy.   
  
Tom's thoughts were interrupted as the door slowly creaked open. He and Rick jumped up from their seats. Christian walked out of the room looking like he had just watched someone beat his only child. His demeanor was that of a broken man. It disturbed Tom more than anything had before.   
  
Christian spoke at last. He asked only one question. Luckily it was one that Tom could answer.   
  
  
  
  


o - }---)---) ~*~ (---(---{ - o

  
  
  
  
  
The warm yellow sunshine streamed from the outside world through the window and into the library-slash-study. From there it spread throughout the room- soaking into the dark maroon velvet curtains, into the floor, into chairs, clothes, and skin.  
  
Meg had gotten a new book and she had just started reading it that day, sitting in a plush maroon chair. Mother and Father had always told her that men didn't like women who knew too much, but Meg simply couldn't resist the calling of books. She loved them all: fiction, non-fiction, short stories, novels, plays, and poetry.   
  
And Meg's parents were dead anyway, so what could _they_ possibly know?   
  
In her current book the main character had just met the girl of his dreams and was completely, irreversibly in love with her. Alas- for she was of low class, and had a rather scandalous job, and the hero wasn't even quite sure that she loved him. Meg smiled as the main character described his ineptness at dancing. It promised to be an excellent book.   
  
A maid poked her head into the room. "Miss Margaret?" she said uncertainly, for she knew very well how Meg hated to be interrupted. "Miss Margaret, you should really make yourself presentable."   
  
Meg sighed and put down her book. "All right, Sophia." She smiled. "I suppose if I have to."   
  
  
  
  


o - }---)---) ~*~ (---(---{ - o

  
  
  
  
  
"So, who is this Miss Lockwood and why does her name sound so familiar?"   
  
"Do you remember a long time ago, from when we were kids? Rob and Rick called her Maggie-Magpie. She hated it- remember? She cried."   
  
Christian nodded as they walked out to the carriage.   
  
"There's a welcome-home party for you tonight," Rick put in. "She'll be there, of course."   
  
Christian said nothing. He was silent for the rest of the trip home. He went straight to his room and did not come out until a manservant told him that the party was about to start. He then replied that he was too ill to go and please inform the guests that they simply _must_ have fun without him.   
  
Christian closed the door and sank down to the floor, weeping profusely. Like he so often did, he sang poetry to the songbird, which had formerly belonged to Satine. Somehow it almost seemed like singing to her.   
  
"Sunshine, blue skies- please go away.   
My girl has left me behind and gone away.   
With her with my future, my life is filled with gloom,   
so day after day, I stay locked up in my room.   
I know to you it might sound strange,   
but I wish it would rain.   
Oh, how I wish that it would rain!   
  
Cos so badly, I wanna go outside.   
But everyone knows that a man ain't supposed to cry.   
Listen, I gotta cry cos crying eases the pain.   
This hurt I feel inside words can never explain!   
I just wish it would rain.   
Oh, let it rain, rain, rain!   
Oh, how I wish that it would rain!   
  
... Let it rain, let it rain.   
I need rain to disguise the tears in my eyes.   
You know, I'm a man and I've got my pride:   
till it rains, I'm gonna stay inside.   
Let it rain, let it rain.   
Oh, how I wish that it would rain!"   
  
  
  
  


o - }---)---) ~*~ (---(---{ - o

  
  
  
  
  
Christian came out of his room three days later, claiming to have been sick. He slipped by servants (who all pretended not to see him) and into the library- his favorite room in the house. It took him a moment to realize that someone else was in there, but he still had the advantage. She hadn't noticed his entrance at all.   
  
She was curled up in _his_ chair reading a book. She had light brown eyes and dark brown hair that fell down her back in curls. She wasn't extraordinarily tall or thin, but she wasn't short or fat either. She was of average height and average build. She was pretty, but not stunningly beautiful at all.   
  
She was the opposite of Satine Desmergers- she was perfectly ordinary. She could only be Margaret Lockwood.   
  
Christian wasn't going to say a word. He was just going to back out of the room quietly and run back up to his room, where he wouldn't have to worry about arranged marriages or the staff talking about the "odd young Mr Stratton".   
  
Of course, plans rarely go as they're supposed to. Especially when one is backing out of a room. Then one tends to run into things, like chairs.   
  
Her head snapped up. Judging by her face, she look about Christian's age. A few years younger, in fact.   
  
"Oh!" she said, putting the book away quickly. "I'm so sorry, sir. I was just . . . reading this book . . . I lost track of time . . ."   
  
"My mistake," Christian said, and he quickly left the room with a polite bow. Once the library's big double doors were closed, Christian ran all the way back to the safety of his room.   
  
  
  
  


o - }---)---) ~*~ (---(---{ - o

  
  
  
  
  
"So, Miss Margaret," Sophia said with a little smile as she walked into the room, "How do you like young Mr Stratton?"   
  
Meg's eyebrows shot up. "_That_ was him?! Well, then, I . . . I don't really know how I like him. He didn't say much. Actually, he left as soon as he could. I almost feel insulted."   
  
Sophia laughed. "Well, that's not the important part anyway. Do you think you could fall in love with him?" she asked, her voice practically shining with eagerness. Sophia had never been in love herself, but she had heard all about it and she had looked in at all the balls. Love was an exciting and fascinating subject.   
  
Meg sighed. "Oh, I don't know! I've never been in _love_! I don't know _anything_ about love except what I've read about it in books. I've always known that I would be shipped off to some rich snob and if I turned up lucky I would give him a son and then he would leave me alone and die early."   
  
"I don't think Mr Stratton'll be dying off any time soon," Sophia remarked playfully. "He seems to be in good shape to me."   
  
"Yes," Meg agreed with mild irritation, "he's good looking all right, but is he anything else? I have no idea- he won't even talk to me and I've been here for four days already! What kind of marriage will _that_ be? There's no love there."   
  
"The other servants say that he is kind," Sophia offered helpfully.   
  
"I'm sure he is, but what does it matter if he doesn't love me? I heard his two friends, Mr Ellison and Mr Riddle, talking in the study one day. Mr Stratton, Sr., said in his will that if his son and I don't wed within a year of the reading of the will the entire estate will go to Mr Stratton, Sr.'s nephew. I don't remember a lot about my childhood visits here, but I do remember that Christian and Alphonse detested each other."   
  
"Of course he would marry to keep his inheritance," Sophia said, like this was just the most natural, sensible thing ever. "He's a very rich man."   
  
"I also remember," Meg said, "the last time I visited. His mother had just died and he was still trying to figure things out. He told me that there were four important things in life. Everything else was superfluous, but the four most important, vital things in life were Truth, Beauty, Freedom, and Love.   
  
"He was fourteen at the time and I was ten, so I really didn't understand a word of what he was talking about. I was just happy that he was including me. I remember how his eyes shined- it was a little frightening, the power he seemed to possess within him at that time. He truly believed every word he spoke.   
  
"Rick, Bobby, and Tommy (this was back before they all became Messrs and I became Miss) would have laughed at him, had his mother not just died. They thought it was crazy. They thought _he_ was crazy. But I believed him.   
  
"I _believed_ him! Then when he gave me a book of love poetry to read, I read it. And when he told me things, things that other people would have considered absurd, I listened. He doesn't know it, but he changed my life! I would have turned out some ignorant, silly little girl who only thought of clothes. He made me _think_ about things.   
  
"Strange, but it never occurred to either of us that we were betrothed all along. All the times as a child, when his friends teased me and he took up for me. When he included me in their games, and told me things that he _never_ would have told the boys . . . we never stopped to think that our parents had it all planned out. Or, I didn't, anyhow."   
  
"I doubt he did either," Sophia put in. "He was a young boy obsessed with love."   
  
"You're right. He would have never thought of such a thing as betrothal. He said to me once, in that last visit, that it was a dirty concept. I only found out that we were to be wed about three years ago. Then it simply . . . didn't happen. It just faded away."   
  
"I heard he went to France to become a writer," Sophia revealed. "One of the butlers said he never looked back until his father died."   
  
"So he _must_ have heard," Meg said glumly. "I wonder. Did he even remember me from before, or was he opposed to marrying _anyone_ he didn't love?"   
  
"I'm sure it's not you," Sophia said comfortingly. "I'm sure he just has a heavy cross to bear."   
  
  
  
  


o - }---)---) ~*~ (---(---{ - o

  
  
  
  
  
Christian sat inside his room, leaning on the door with his head in his shaking hands.   
  
He vaguely remembered her now. Maggie-Magpie. They had played together years ago. He had last seen her . . . how many years ago? Twelve? Something like that. She was the first person he told about his new discovery, which he would later learn was the Bohemian Ideal system. She was the first person to ever hear him rant about Truth, Beauty, Freedom, and (above all things) _Love_. How ironic.   
  
"What do I do?" he asked the songbird. "I mean, I know what I have to do. I have to marry her. Damned if I'll let Alphonse have anything!   
  
"But I promise, Satine, I won't love her. I won't even sing to her."   
  
Then Christian sang a song for Satine, just made up on the spot. As usual, the melody came straight from his heart, making him cry.   
  
"Since you've gone I been lost without a trace.   
I dream at night- I can only see your face.   
I look around but it's you I can't replace.   
I feel so cold and I long for your embrace.   
I keep crying, 'Baby, baby, please!'   
  
"Tell me what it takes to let you go!   
Tell me how the pain's supposed to go.   
Tell me how it is that you can sleep in the night  
without thinking you lost everything   
that was good in your life to the toss of the dice . . .   
  
"Tell me what it takes to let you go.   
  
"When you don't look back  
I guess the feelings start to fade away . . ."   
  
  
  
  
o - }---)---) ~*~ (---(---{ - o  
  
***Credit**: The first song is from "I Wish It Would Rain". I have the version by Dogstar. (Cool band!) Where it says, "my girl has left me behind and gone away" it's actually supposed to be, "my girl has found another and gone away". Entirely inappropriate, eh? Totally worthy of a change. And where it says, "I'm a man and I've got my pride" I _think _ it's supposed to be "I'm a man; I ain't got no pride" but that just makes no sense, even within the context of the actual song.   
  
The songs at the end are butchered versions of "Every Breath You Take" by the Police and "What It Takes" by Aerosmith. The title is from "Here Comes My Girl" by Tom Petty, referring to the introduction of Meg. I swear to God, the _Moulin Rouge_ fans are going to form a mob and lynch me. The rest of this story should show you why.   
  
**Thank you to the following people, who left reviews**: Ami-chan; Brown-eyes, ChristineCS. You really made my day!   
  
  
  



	3. Sweet Misery

  
  
  
***Title**: The Beat of a Heart (Part Three- Sweet Misery)  
***Author**: Jania Jitsu  
***Disclaimer**: _Moulin Rouge_ belongs to Baz Lurhmann, I suppose. It certainly doesn't belong to me! Although I wouldn't mind an Ewan, if you can spare . . .  
***Feedback**: jania_jitsu@yahoo.com   
  
  
  
  
  
Christian woke up feeling slightly ill, like he had for the longest time after his mother died. He knew that this feeling had nothing to do with his father's death, though.   
  
Part of it, he knew, was a monster hangover. He honestly shouldn't have drunk that much, but he'd needed to get away for a while and that was the only escape available.   
  
That was what he had learned from the Bohemians, wasn't it? In times of depression, desperation, celebration, or jubilation, absinthe was the thing to have. Christian shook his head bitterly. He had not spoken to any of them since Satine's funeral.   
  
Who could he talk to? Not Tom or Rick or Robert. They wouldn't understand. Miss Lockwood was the problem, so he couldn't talk to her. He couldn't talk to any of the servants or any of his relatives or any of the guests currently visiting.   
  
Christian was completely alone in his misery.   
  
  
  
  


o - }---)---) ~*~ (---(---{ - o

  
  
  
  
  
_sweet misery you cause me  
that's what you called me  
sweet misery you cause me   
  
I was blind, but, oh, how you could see?  
you saw the beauty in everything  
everything and me  
I would cry, and you would smile  
stay with me a little while_   
  
  
  
  


o - }---)---) ~*~ (---(---{ - o

  
  
  
  
  
Meg sat in her chair in the library. She wasn't reading. She wasn't doing anything actually, except letting her mind wander.   
  
'_What's wrong with me? Would I really be that bad?_' She wanted to ask him these questions, but didn't have the courage. Besides, Sophia said the butler reported to her that Mr Stratton hadn't left his room that day and that was a place Meg _certainly_ didn't want to be, at least not yet.   
  
(Meg's knowledge of baby-making was incomplete. It came entirely from Sophia, who knew but was vague on the actual events, but Meg knew for certain that it took place in bedrooms and it wasn't always pleasant. She also knew that a lady didn't want it rumored that she visited gentlemen in their bedrooms. Something to do with that baby-making thing.)   
  
Meg sighed and shifted in her seat.   
  
  
  
  


o - }---)---) ~*~ (---(---{ - o

  
  
  
  
  
Christian looked around the cheerful room with a grim eye. This wasn't him, but what was? What _was_ he now, exactly?   
  
He almost took another swig of alcohol from his bottle, but he stopped and shook his head. What would everyone he had ever known think of him now?   
  
What would Satine have thought?   
  
Christian put down the bottle, then picked it up again and tossed it out the window. Having done that, he proceeded to shower and get dressed. Once he looked presentable, he began to look towards at the untouched breakfast tray on his desk. It was cold now, but surely it would still be good. It wasn't like he was all that hungry anyway. He could just use a little nibble. After the food, Christian sat down at his desk and began to write poetry.   
  
Hey, no one said he had to leave his room! It wasn't how much progress was made that counted, but that progress was made at all.   
  
  
  
  


o - }---)---) ~*~ (---(---{ - o

  
  
  
  
  


Christian's poem:   
  
_Yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away.  
Now it looks as though they're here to stay.  
Oh, I believe in yesterday.   
  
Suddenly I'm not half the man I used to be.  
There's a shadow hanging over me.  
Oh, yesterday came suddenly!   
  
Why she had to go  
I don't know, she wouldn't say.  
I said something wrong  
now I long for yesterday.   
  
Yesterday, love was such an easy game to play.  
Now I need a place to hide away.  
Oh, I believe in yesterday.   
  
Why she had to go  
I don't know, she wouldn't say.  
I said something wrong   
now I long for yesterday!   
  
Yesterday, love was such an easy game to play.  
Now I need a place to hide away.  
Oh, I believe in yesterday. _

  
  
  
  
  


o - }---)---) ~*~ (---(---{ - o

  
  
  
  
  
At nine-thirty the next morning there was a knock at the door. Startled, Christian put down his pen, covered his papers, and went to see who had come to his room. Surely not . . .   
  
"Oh, hello, Tom."   
  
Tom smiled a genuine smile. "You're looking much better," he said, then mentally kicked himself. He had only meant to say that Christian looked well.   
  
Christian grinned. "I think I'm much better, actually," he lied, and he found that it wasn't so difficult after all.   
  
"So you're going to be fine?"   
  
"Yeah, I think so."   
  
"And . . . and what about your father's will conditions?"   
  
Christian paused. His smile faltered, but only for a moment. Then it was back up. "We'll see about that. Would you like to come in? I'm sure you want to know about my book, considering it was the biggest reason I _went_ to France."   
  
Tom's eyebrows shot up. "You never told me you wrote a book!"   
  
"It's published, but under an alias. I have a copy for you, if you'd like it."   
  
"Of course I would!"   
  
Tom turned the book over in his hands, looking at the cover, the sides, the title page, the print . . . He knew the man who had done all this. It was a strange, but amazing feeling.   
  
"Christian," he said in a quiet voice. "This is great. This was your dream since . . . forever. You must be so happy."   
  
"You should read it," Christian said calmly. "It explains a lot." There was a quietness in his voice that Tom didn't quite catch.   
  
  
  
  


o - }---)---) ~*~ (---(---{ - o

  
  
  
  
  
Tom couldn't sleep that night, so he sat down and opened Christian's book. It had him from the first page; from the first sentence: "_The greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return._"   
  
"Wow," he said to no one in particular. "That's some beginning." Christian had said that to him once, just before he'd left for France.   
  
Tom had finished the book by the next morning. It was painfully obvious to him who the main character was, even though names had been changed.   
  
Tom had gotten no sleep that night but, when he was positive that people had been up and about for quite some time, he got up and knocked on Christian's door. No one answered.   
  
A little afraid, and wanting to apologize for not asking about France, Tom tried to open the door. It pushed open easily.   
  
The room was tidy, as Christian's room had always been. Even the usually messy desk was cleaned up. Everything was in its proper place, but Christian was gone.   
  
  
  
  


o - }---)---) ~*~ (---(---{ - o

  
  
  
  
  
At about eight-thirty that morning Christian had gone to the library. He needed books to read and some of his favorites hadn't come with him to France.   
  
He opened the doors and this time wasn't all that surprised to see that someone was already there, once again occupying his favorite chair. This time she looked up from her book when he closed the door.   
  
"Hello, Miss Lockwood," he said politely. "We haven't met for quite some time. I'm Christian Stratton."   
  
"I know who you are," she said with a smile as soft and ironic as her voice. "We used to play together, many years ago. Please, call me Meg."   
  
"All right then, Meg. Call me Christian." Christian found a small smile playing on his face. "What are you reading?" he asked.   
  
She looked at the spine. "It's called 'Come What May'. I've never heard of the author before, though. C.S. Devin?"   
  
Christian covered his surprise with a cough. "Uh, really? I, uh, hear he's quite popular over in France." That wasn't a _complete_ lie. Toulouse had written him to tell him how well the book was doing and it was actually doing all right.   
  
"Oh, that's right," Meg said with a false note of surprise, as if she had just thought of it. "You lived in France for a while, didn't you?"   
  
"Err, yes. For almost three years."   
  
What was she playing at? Christian had met tricksters before. Hell, he had been in love with the best liar ever created! That had gotten him pretty good at telling when people were trying to pull one over on someone and Meg was _definitely_ trying to manipulate him.   
  
"You just . . ." Meg made a sweeping gesture with her hand, "up and left for France?"   
  
"Uh, yes, pretty much."   
  
Meg sighed. "It must be nice to be able to do that. Just pick up and go without having to justify yourself to anyone. You wouldn't even have to have a reason- you can do whatever you like."   
  
"I had a reason," Christian revealed, despite his internal warnings.   
  
Meg raised an eyebrow, but pretended to look only mildly interested. Christian made a show of looking at the clock.   
  
"Look at the time! I really should be going. I told Tom- you remember Tom?"   
  
"Vaguely," Meg said, her voice sardonic and bitter.   
  
"Right, well, I promised him I'd meet him. Sorry. Will I see you later?"   
  
"I may be at dinner," Meg replied coldly.   
  
"Well, goodbye then Me-"  
  
"Goodbye, Mr Stratton."   
  
Christian closed the door to the library, his head whirling.   
  
What had just happened?!   
  
  
  
  


o - }---)---) ~*~ (---(---{ - o

  
  
  
  
  
_oh, sweet misery you cause me  
that's what you called me  
sweet misery you cause me  
  
and in my heart I see what you're doing to me  
and in my heart I see just how you wanted it to be  
sweet misery _   
  
  
  
  
Meg wasn't happy. She wasn't _miserable_. She wasn't _despondent_, or _depressed_, but she wasn't happy either. She was . . . disheartened. That was a good word for what Meg was.   
  
And shouldn't she be? Meg was human! She had a heart, like everyone else. Everyone with a heart wants to be loved; to feel like they're needed, but Meg obviously wasn't loved or needed by Mr Stratton, Jr. Or anyone else, for that matter.   
  
He had obviously gone to France to get away from her. He didn't want her, not even for her looks or money like most men wanted her. He wanted nothing to do with Meg. Except for maybe as an acquaintance.   
  
That stung.   
  
Having come to absolutely no conclusion on what she was supposed to do about this, Meg stood up and began to stomp out of the library like a small child. She stopped in her tracks, though, when the door opened on its own accord.   
  
Meg shook herself. That was silly- of course the door didn't open itself! Someone had opened it. A man Meg knew very well stood in the doorway.   
  
  
  
  


o - }---)---) ~*~ (---(---{ - o

  
  
  
  
  
He looked around the house with a slightly confusing mixture of disdain and nostalgia. He had been here before- oh, yes, many times, years ago. He couldn't remember precisely why he had stopped coming, but it probably had something to do with the Fabulous Four. Just as it _always_ had, everything seemed to revolve around them.   
  
Him, actually. Everything revolved around _him_. The stupid brat. How was it that, even now, when he had turned stark raving mad, Christian got all the attention?! It was infuriating.   
  
Alphonse shook his head. Now wasn't the time for anger. '_Cool as ice_,' he said to himself. '_Inaccessible as a king._' He opened the doors to the library- surely moony old Christian would be in there. (Never mind that "moony old" Christian was three years younger than him.)   
  
Christian was not there, but someone else was. Alphonse made one of his infamous quick assessments. Like everyone else, she didn't even notice.   
  
Having not seen what he didn't want to see (though surely it would be there soon), Alphonse smiled his nicest, prettiest smile. He was a handsome man, when he wanted to be. He actually looked a lot like Christian, except he was taller, with a longer face, and he had brown eyes instead of Christian's gray.   
  
Not only was Alphonse handsome, but he also had charm. It wasn't Christian's natural, slightly naïve kindness, but a careful manipulation so people would perceive him as being kind. Unfortunately, Alphonse rarely felt kind.   
  
"Hello, Miss Lockwood," he said politely. "My name is Alphonse Stratton. I don't suppose you remember me?"   
  
Miss Lockwood smiled. "Alphonse! Why, of course I do! I saw you at the funeral, but I didn't even recognize you. How very nice to see you again."   
  
  
  
  
o - }---)---) ~*~ (---(---{ - o   
  
***Notes**: Devin is Celtic for "Poet". I thought they were kind of fitting. Oh, and Alphonse makes his- erm- _sinister_ appearance! ; ) I have _plans_ for this guy, but he started out as just a kind of throwaway remark to get Christian to come home. And "Fabulous Four"? God, I hope I didn't just create some way-back-when Marauders! Whoops. Well, I did refer to Christian as being "moony" back there. ; D   
  
The next part shouldn't be coming out as soon as this one did because I have to go back to school. : (   
  
***Credit**: Inspired by the accidental character namings, I've started to draw a bit from the "Both Sides of Time" books, by Caroline B. Cooney. Not much, and most of it's just plans for future parts. Just thought I'd note that.   
  
The title is a really shibby Michelle Branch song and refers to how miserable everyone is. That's also the song used in this part, except for "Christian's" poem from the beginning which is, of course, the Beatles' "Yesterday". KICK. ASS. SONGS.   
  
**Thank you to everyone who reviewed**: _Brown-Eyes_ [Wow! Thank you! Not just for not lynching me either. Mostly for the compliments. You make a writer feel good. : )], _karadarlin_ [The brownie points go to karadarlin! God, those books rock! Do you know if she'll ever write a fourth?], _Carrie_ [Bohemian Death Eaters?! Sounds like something my friends and I talk about after I've had too much coffee! ; )], _Lia_ [Erm, haven't quite decided on that love thing. But, hey, I've got about three options and that's one. : )]   
  
  
  



	4. The Boys Are Back In Town

  
  
  
  
***Title**: The Beat of a Heart (Part Four- The Boys Are Back In Town)  
***Author**: Jania Jitsu  
***Disclaimer**: Moulin Rouge belongs to Baz Lurhmann, I suppose. It certainly doesn't belong to me! Although I wouldn't mind an Ewan, if you can spare . . .  
***Feedback**: jania_jitsu@yahoo.com   
  
  
  
  
  
"Christian!" Tom called, waving the book and running to catch up with his friend. "Christian," he said, "I read the book."  
  
Christian looked at him in amazement. "All of it?"   
  
"Last night."   
  
"Wow. That was pretty quick."   
  
"It was very good," Tom said truthfully. "And would you believe I know the author?" He winked.   
  
"Is that so?" Christian asked, his voice just a little too flat to be joking.   
  
"Mm-hmm. He's one of my best friends."   
  
Tom knew Christian would be able to tell from the look in his eyes that he knew the book was autobiographical, but he decided to make it a little more obvious.   
  
"So, what was her real name?"   
  
"Huh?"   
  
"In the book. You called her 'Jolie Diamanta'. What was her real name?"   
  
"Satine Desmergers," Christian said. He looked and sounded so weary and far away. Like just the memory of her _name_ had the power to take him places, even if he didn't want to go.   
  
"No, really," Tom pressed. "What was her name?"   
  
Christian snapped out of his daze and looked at him. "What? What are you talking about? Her name was Satine Desmergers."   
  
Tom shrugged and nodded his head. "Okay, Chris, if you say so, but _nobody_ in their right mind names their child 'Satine'."   
  
"I'm not kidding! Her name was Satine!"   
  
"All right, I believe you!"   
  
Christian was about to protest again when he heard female laughter, followed closely by a man's. Then, from around the corner, came Meg. She was with Christian's cousin, Alphonse.   
  
"Alphonse? What are _you_ doing here?"   
  
Alphonse gave his warmest smile, which Christian could see through in a Monmartrian minute. "Christian! Cousin! How are you?"   
  
He held his arms out and gave Christian a stiff, manly hug, complete with back-clapping which Christian didn't participate in because he hadn't anticipated the hug and his arms were pinned to his sides. Not that he would have anyway; he was a little stunned by his cousin's appearance, not to mention the friendliness.   
  
The hug was over almost before it began, and Alphonse resumed his stance a few steps back.   
  
"What are you doing here?" Christian repeated.   
  
"I arranged the funeral, but I had to leave almost immediately on urgent business," Alphonse said. He looked at Meg with sad eyes. "I felt just _horrible_ for leaving."   
  
"At least you were there," she said kindly, patting his arm as some sort of comfort. She deliberately didn't look at Christian, thereby signaling that he was the _bad_ son and Alphonse was the _good_ nephew.   
  
Christian frowned. "I would have been there too, I mean he's my _father_ and all, but Alphonse had him buried before I could get back from France." It was a little suspicious, actually.   
  
"France," Alphonse said, a little sarcastically. "Well, that _is_ a long way away."   
  
"What, exactly, are you accusing me of?!" Christian asked incredulously.   
  
Alphonse raised one eyebrow. His ice-blue eyes were cold and calculating. "Christian, I don't even pretend to know what you're rambling on about this time."   
  
"Wha-" Christian stuttered.   
  
"Christian," Alphonse interrupted, false concern dripping from his voice, "I've been hearing strange things about you lately. You won't leave your room, and when you do you say and do things that are . . . well . . . quite frankly they're frightening. Are you all right, Cousin?"   
  
Christian looked at Alphonse like he had just grown a second head, complete with three eyes and a hand for hair. "What on _Earth_ are you talking about?! I haven't done anything unusual! What _I _want to know is what _you're _up to!"   
  
"'Up to'? Honestly, Cousin. You're becoming delusional. I admit, you've always been a little strange, running off to France in search of whatever and _doing _God-knows-what to-"  
  
"Hey, now!" Tom said, sticking his arm out just in time to catch Christian from leaping forward and hitting Alphonse.   
  
"Come and say that again, you basta-"  
  
"_THAT'S ENOUGH NOW_!"   
  
All three men turned to Meg, who stood with her hands on her hips, clenched into fists.   
  
"Really, Mr Stratton!" she said to Christian. "Alphonse has been _nothing _but kind, arranging your father's funeral and whatnot, and how do you repay him? With your childishness!"   
  
Christian looked at her with a kind of confusion on his face that only a man can possess. She was scolding him like he was a child!   
  
"Meg?" He left off the '_Or whoever you are . . . _' that he was thinking.   
  
"My name is Miss Lockwood," she replied. "And Alphonse isn't the only person you've been horrible to lately. Now, if you _gentlemen_-" Christian winced when she stressed this word, because she was plainly being sarcastic, "will excuse me, I really am not in the mood to be dealing with this."   
  
"You're right, of course. I'm terribly sorry," Alphonse said, with penitence that was _obviously_ false, or to Christian and Tom (who made a face) at least. "Shall I walk you to the gardens?" he asked. "They're lovely if you need to be alone. I used to go there all the time in my youth when Christian and his friends would leave me out of their little games."   
  
Meg smiled and fell for it. "Why, thank you, Alphonse. That would be lovely."   
  
They walked off, her hand on his arm; voices trailing pleasantly down the hall behind them, where Christian and Tom stood dumbstruck.   
  
"I think the phrase 'what the hell?' sums up this situation _quite_ nicely . . ." Tom mumbled.   
  
Christian nodded in fervent agreement, staring after them.   
  
"What is she hacked off at you about?"   
  
Christian shrugged, still staring.   
  
"Better yet, what the hell does Alphonse want?"   
  
Christian shrugged again.   
  
"Or, even better, why are you still staring after her?"   
  
Christian started to shrug, then he actually listened to what Tom was saying. "What?" Christian asked, shaking his head and looking back at Tom, who feigned innocence.   
  
"Nothing. Nothing at all."   
  
Christian turned away and frowned his "deeply in thought" frown. "What could Alphonse possibly be up to? I can't figure it out."   
  
"It has me kind of worried that we haven't already," Tom said with a hint of humor.   
  
"Well, we need to."   
  
Tom grinned. "Time to call up the old Knights?"   
  
Christian found himself grinning and nodding. The two men gave each other high fives as they walked down the hall.   
  
"The boys are back in town!" Tom crowed. The servants in the area jumped at the sudden noise. Tom laughed.   
  
  
  
  


o - }---)---) ~*~ (---(---{ - o

  
  
  
  
  
_guess who just got back today?   
those wild-eyed boys that had been away  
haven't changed, haven't much to say  
but man, I still think those cats are great!   
  
they were asking if you were around  
how you was, where you could be found  
I told them you were living downtown  
driving all the old men crazy   
  
the boys are back in town_   
  
  
  
  
"So," Robert asked, cleaning and adjusting his glasses, "what's so deadly important that you called upon my Knight's oath? And, let me tell you, it had better be _damn_ important because I had to claim family emergency to take leave off work. I can't just go doing that!"   
  
"Oh, shove off it, Rob," Rick laughed, lighting a cigarette. "We all know you'd rather be here."   
  
"I happen to like my job," Robert said icily. "I know that even if a person doesn't _need_ to work they should. Unlike _some_ people."   
  
"We know, we know, work fends off laziness. But you know you'd still rather be here with us." Rick, Tom, and Christian made innocent puppy faces.   
  
Robert shook his head, but the beginnings of a grin were forming on his face. "Stop wanking around and tell me what's so bloody important that my Knightly honor was called into question."   
  
"Yes, about that," Tom said. "You remember how all that started?"   
  
Robert nodded. "Of course. We were, what, seven? Nine?"   
  
"Something like that. And we decided that we had to fend off the 'bad guys' together (namely Alphonse)? So we 'knighted' each other."   
  
"Right, right, and the pact. Always be there for each other, especially in times of trouble, defend maidens and children . . . et cetera, et cetera. I was there, remember?"   
  
Tom held his hands up in a peaceful gesture. "I'm just reminding you."   
  
"How kind. What I really need to know is how you need _me_."   
  
Christian cleared his throat. "I, uh, I assume you know the terms of my father's will?"   
  
Robert's grin turned into a sort of grimace. "Tom and Rick filled me in on that on the ride over here. It was awfully quick, so I assume I missed out on some details, but what I got is basically this: You went to France, fell in love with a courtesan who died."   
  
Christian winced and Tom glared at Robert, who just continued.   
  
"You came back here because your father died too, and if you don't marry Margaret Lockwood within a year of the reading of the will- that would be ten and a half months from now- Alphonse gets the inheritance. Did I miss anything?"   
  
"Yeah," Rick snarled, "the part where Miss Maggie-Magpie gets pissed off at Christian for no damn reason and cozies up to Alphonse, the slimy git. I'd spit on his name if I weren't indoors."   
  
"Yes," Robert said sardonically, "and we're all grateful that we are. Wouldn't want to witness _that_. So what exactly am I supposed to do about this?"   
  
"We," Christian corrected. "All for one and one for all, remember?"   
  
"_We_," Tom said, "are going to correct this oversight on Miss Lockwood's part. She is obviously unaware that Alphonse is a dirty, manipulative son of a bitch-"  
  
"And Christian is . . . what, exactly? The guy who only sort of wants to marry her for purely monetary reasons? Yeah, Chris, you've got a great case."   
  
"Hey," Christian argued, "you really can't blame me there! I don't want to see my family's money go to Alphonse. And, God help me, but I'm still in love with Satine!" He looked away. "It hurts to think of her and it hurts even more to think about Meg."   
  
"Actually," Tom corrected semi-gently, "I think you're back onto 'Mr and Miss' base. She's awfully pissed at you. What did you do?"   
  
"I have no idea!" Christian exclaimed, throwing up his hands. "I was talking with her in the library this morning. She was obviously trying to manipulate me into telling her why I went to France, so to get out of it I said I was supposed to be meeting you somewhere. Next thing I know, I'm 'Mr Stratton' again."   
  
"Maybe you can ask her tonight," Rick suggested.   
  
Christian looked up with a frown. "Tonight? What's happening tonight?"   
  
Robert snorted. "Really, Christian, you don't know what's going on in your own household?"   
  
Tom shrugged. "A bunch of guests have been hanging around here since the funeral. Christian's aunts have been arranging parties and balls and such to keep them occupied and happy. Christian hasn't been to a single one."   
  
"There's been talk," Rick added. "You _do_ know that everyone thinks you're crazy, right, Chris?"   
  
"I may have heard something about that," Christian grumbled.   
  
"They think he's crazy?" Robert asked with a little shock. "Christian isn't crazy! Maybe he's a little odd . . ."   
  
"Gee, thanks, Robert."   
  
"No offense, Christian, I just mean that you've always been a little different to everyone else."   
  
"It's nothing bad," Tom assured him. "It's not even that noticeable."   
  
"Nothing to be ashamed of," Rick said in his typical bold voice.   
  
"Can we stop talking about that?!" Christian asked. "What are we going to do about Alphonse?"   
  
"We'll watch him tonight at the party," Robert promised.   
  
Rick winked. "You just concentrate on getting the girl."   
  
"I don't even _want_ the girl," Christian muttered. "How did I get stuck with this?"   
  
Rick shrugged. "Just lucky, I guess."   
  
  
  
  


o - }---)---) ~*~ (---(---{ - o

  
  
  
  
  
"I'm still not in love with her, Satine-Lark, but you know I have to do this," Christian explained the bird that used to belong to Satine. (He didn't know if Satine had named it, so he'd just named it after her so it would seem like he could talk to her. Lark, the name of a songbird, had just come along naturally.)   
  
Satine-Lark preened its feathers and tweeted a bit, ignoring Christian.   
  
Was the _bird_ mad at him?! Christian wasn't crazy (contrary to current rumors). He knew the bird wasn't actually Satine. But, God, it had her spirit!   
  
"Would it help if I sang?" That always seemed to calm Satine-Lark down. Sometimes it even sang along, sort of.   
  
Satine-Lark stopped preening and looked at Christian critically, as if it were sizing him up.   
  
"This is the story of a girl," he sang,   
"whose pretty face she hid from the world.   
And while she looked so sad and lonely there  
I absolutely loved her when she smiled!   
  
"My, my baby blue-  
I've been thinking about you.   
You're so jaded  
and, baby, I'm afraid of you!   
  
"I tried so hard and got so far,   
but in the end it doesn't even matter.   
I had to fall to lose it all,   
but in the end it doesn't even matter-  
as I sit here in this misery  
I don't think I'll ever know love  
or see the sun from here.   
  
"One thing: I don't know why.   
It doesn't even matter how hard I try.   
Keep that in mind.   
  
"I designed this rhyme to remind myself:   
all I've ever learned from love  
was how to shoot somebody who outdrew you.   
It's not a cry that you hear at night.   
It's not somebody who's seen the light.   
It's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah.   
  
"Keep that in mind."   
  
There was a cough from the back of the room. "He sings to his bird," a voice muttered. "And we ever _doubted_ his insanity?"   
  
"Ah, shut up, Tom. Is it time to go already?"   
  
"Your guests await."   
  
Christian sighed. "Fine, then. I suppose I should go."   
  
"Good thing," Rick said, suddenly appearing beside Tom. "Tom and I didn't want to have to force you, but we _really_ have to quell those insanity rumors. That means _try_ to act normal, okay?" He winked and Robert, who had just walked up in time to hear the last bit, rolled his eyes.   
  
"They're starting dinner in five minutes. You may want to hurry."   
  
Christian nodded, gave his room one last longing look, and left with his friends.   
  
"Okay," Robert said as the four walked to the ballroom, where there were tables set up for dinner, "remember your jobs, people: Rick, Tom, and I are going to watch Alphonse and try to listen to his conversations. Christian, don't worry about him. In fact, try to stay away from him."   
  
"But without making it _look_ like you're staying away from him," Tom added.   
  
"Right." Christian nodded. "And I'm supposed to be winning Meg."   
  
"Miss Lockwood," Tom corrected. "Be a gentleman. Don't _win_ the girl, _woo_ her."   
  
"Chris is the only one of us who was ever really good at it!" Rick laughed.   
  
"And _you_, Rick-" Robert said sternly, "I'm not even kidding- stay away from Alphonse. If you start a fight, or even an argument . . ." He made a strangling gesture with his hands.   
  
"All right, all right, I got it!"   
  
"Is that it?" Christian asked. They were standing about ten feet away from the ballroom.   
  
Robert stopped, scanning his brain for a moment to see if he had forgotten anything. "No, I don't think so. We've been over everything before. Just everyone behave and we'll be fine."   
  
"All for one and one for all, then," Rick said, sticking his hand out. The others added their hands and repeated the code (which they had stolen from The Three Musketeers).   
  
They walked through the doors, side by side.   
  
  
  
  
o - }---)---) ~*~ (---(---{ - o   
  
Thank you to all my reviewers. People: review, please! I want to know how I'm doing and what you think of the story. *puppy eyes* Pleeeeeeeeease?!   
  
***Notes**: Diamanta- "like a diamond"; Jolie- "pretty". Both names are French. Yeah, and I made up that "Monmartiran minute" thing. It was late at night. That's my only excuse. ; ) And the Knight honor thing . . . I decided to run with that Marauder influence that was creeping in. It was just too cute to pass up. : ) That applies to Alphonse the "slimy git" as well.   
  
***Credit**: Ahhh, Thin Lizzy. I love "The Boys Are Back In Town"! They sing some other good songs too, though, so check them out.   
  
And I'm afraid that I tried my hand at a medley. (Please, people stop vomiting! I know it was bad.) But the songs all kick! Here they are, in order of appearance:   
  
* "Absolutely"- Nine Days  
* "Jaded"- Aerosmith  
* "In the End"- Linkin Park  
* "Change"- Blind Melon  
* "In the End"- Linkin Park (again)   
* "Hallelujah"- Jeff Buckley   
  
  
  



	5. I'm Coming Up So You'd Better Get This P...

  
  
  
  
***Title**: The Beat of a Heart (Part Five- I'm coming up (so you'd better get this party started))  
***Author**: Jania Jitsu  
***Disclaimer**: Moulin Rouge belongs to Baz Lurhmann, I suppose. It certainly doesn't belong to me! Although I wouldn't mind an Ewan, if you can spare . . .  
***Feedback**: jania_jitsu@yahoo.com   
  
  
I finished this pretty late (like, 2 AM) so forgive me if there are mistakes here and there.   
  
  
  
  
'_Whoo . . ._' Christian mentally shook himself. '_Come on, Stratton. You can do this. It's just a little party. You've been to lots of these before._'   
  
'_But all those other times you weren't trying to forget the love of your life so you could make an innocent girl (who's very angry at you for an unknown reason) fall in love with you so you could cash in on your dead father's estate_,' another voice argued.   
  
It sounded _really_ bad when it was put that way, so Christian's first voice crossly told the other voice to shut up.   
  
"Something wrong?" Tom asked in a low voice.   
  
"No, why?"   
  
"You were frowning."   
  
Whoops. "Uh, just a little nervous."   
  
Tom nodded understandingly. "Just be your charming self. Everything will go just right."   
  
"Right," Christian said under his breath. He sat down at one of the round tables that were positioned around the perimeter of the ballroom. The main floor was left open for a little later, when everyone would start dancing.   
  
Christian was dreading the dancing, especially now that he knew that dancing could be so _different_ from the bland, emotionless stuff that went on in polite society. He would have contemplated this a little more, but then he saw the names on the place cards of the seats around his.   
  
"Oh, you've _got_ to be kidding me," he muttered. "What idiot planned _this _out?!"   
  
  
  
  


o - }---)---) ~*~ (---(---{ - o

  
  
  
  
  
Sophia grinned smugly. A little rearranging on her part had put Mr Christian Stratton and Miss Margaret at the same table. Of course, now Mr Christian Stratton was sitting at the same table as Mr Alphonse Stratton. Sophia couldn't remember- had Miss Margaret said that they liked each other?   
  
Sophia put it out of her mind. It probably didn't matter. She had made sure to put Mr Christian Stratton's three friends at the table too, so they would all be in good company.   
  
Sophia put a little sway in her walk as she made her way to the kitchen. There was a _very_ good-looking chef in there tonight with the _cutest_ French accent.   
  
  
  
  


o - }---)---) ~*~ (---(---{ - o

  
  
  
  
  
"Hello, Miss Lockwood," Christian said with a polite tilt of his head. He stood up to pull out her chair for her. "How are you this fine evening?"   
  
"Well enough, Mr Stratton," she replied, not rudely but certainly not kindly. "I see you're finally getting out. You must be feeling better."   
  
"'Well enough', Miss Lockwood."   
  
  
  
  


o - }---)---) ~*~ (---(---{ - o

  
  
  
  
  
Alphonse began to fume as one of the doormen led him to his seat. What idiot had put him by Christian?! It would be good for his cause, but one could only take so much idiocy in a day before breaking down into an unintelligible heap.   
  
Alphonse sat down next to Miss Lockwood. On her other side was Christian. He looked around at the place cards to see what other poor fools would be stuck at their table and almost began cursing. Luckily, people come equipped with minds they can retreat into for that and other obscene things.   
  
'_It's okay_,' Alphonse convinced himself, '_you can handle sitting by Richard Ellison. You can keep control._'   
_Rick_, however . . .   
  
  
  
  


o - }---)---) ~*~ (---(---{ - o

  
  
  
  
  
After mingling around for a few minutes, Robert, Rick, and Tom were ready to sit down and eat.   
  
Robert saw the problem as soon as they got to their table.   
  
"Tom," he said, fake grin plastered on his face, "be a good sport and switch places with Rick. I need to talk to him for a minute. You understand."   
  
Tom took one look at the arrangements and adopted the same fake attitude. "Sure thing, Robert. Rick?"   
  
Tom and Robert both gave Rick looks that were both pleading and demanding. Rick, taking the all too obvious hints, got up with a wink that was directed at no one in general.   
  
"Ah, I know what this is about," he said slyly as he sat down by Robert.   
  
"Like that wasn't painfully obvious," Robert muttered in Rick's ear. "Jesus Christ, the things I go through for you three."   
  
"Oh, tell me about it. Now we've got to pretend to talk about something important for a few minutes or so."   
  
Robert nodded thoughtfully, already plotting ahead. "And after that, we should probably have a reprise of the whispering every now and then."   
  
"Rob? Why the hell are we planning it out this much? It's not life or death, you know."   
  
Robert sighed and rolled his eyes. "No," he muttered, "it's more than that: it's money."   
  
  
  
  


o - }---)---) ~*~ (---(---{ - o

  
  
  
  
  
The dinner conversation sounded as forced as it was, when it existed at all. Meg made sure that she looked carefully away from Christian, who tried to strike up conversation with her. Alphonse was the only person she didn't speak to tersely. Alphonse was ultra-polite to Rick, Robert, Tom, and Christian and positively saintly towards Meg, which irritated the four "Knights" because they simply could _not_ figure out what Alphonse was up to.   
  
The dreaded part, of course, was when dinner ended and the dancing began. Right away there were unforeseen problems:   
  
"Miss Lockwood," Christian and Alphonse began at the same time. Alphonse, however, ended with "may I have the honor of the first dance?" while Christian simply said, "would you care for a dance?"   
  
Meg looked from one to the other indecisively.   
  
Robert kicked Christian under the table on the second try (on the first try he got the chair) and gave him a look that conveyed his meaning clearly: let Alphonse have her for now. It's polite, and you're only losing a small battle.   
  
Christian nodded politely to Alphonse and Meg. "If it pleases you, Miss Lockwood," he said as eloquently as he could manage, "let my cousin have the first dance." He gave her a slightly mischievous smile. "Just you save one for me later!"   
  
Meg couldn't answer; she was so taken aback by his sudden caring for her. (Or at least he _seemed_ to care, but she'd never know. Damn that inheritance!) She settled for a quick nod.   
  
Alphonse was seething, though he smiled genteelly as he stood up to take Meg's hand.   
  
"Thank you for the favor, cousin," he said over his shoulder before leading her off. Okay, so it wasn't that great of a favor. But he would turn it into one. Alphonse was good at that.   
  
  
  
  


o - }---)---) ~*~ (---(---{ - o

  
  
  
  
  
"Damnit," Rick growled, glaring after Alphonse as if that would un-exist him.   
  
"We can fix this," Robert said semi-confidently; a plan or eight already forming in his brain. He readjusted his glasses and tapped his fingers on his forehead. "We just need . . ." he trailed off and stopped the tapping, having obviously come to the revelation that none of his plans would work.   
  
"It'll be all right," Tom said quietly, patting Christian on the shoulder. "You can still get the girl."   
  
Christian said and did nothing. He didn't even bother to say that he still didn't want the girl and that it was all hopeless anyway.   
  
"Right," Robert said, "you'll just have to dance with her next. Be nice, Christian. We all know you're the charming one."   
  
But when the dance was over, a small herd of females (just enough to frighten Christian and get Rick on the hunt) came over and dragged Meg off, presumably to admire each other's dresses and make giggly comments about the other party-goers. The four men stared after them.   
  
"Damnit."   
  
"We can fix this . . ."   
  
Christian, unable to take any more party "fun", got up from the table and walked away. Some kind of friendship instinct kept Robert, Rick, and Tom from following him.   
  
  
  
  


o - }---)---) ~*~ (---(---{ - o

  
  
  
  
  
Poor Meg was caught in a crowd of girls she hardly recognized. It was making her very confused and slightly dizzy.   
  
"Margaret, _darling_," Martha kissed her lightly on each cheek, "we haven't seen you in so _long_! Why don't you write?"   
  
"Ooh," Emily cooed, "what a lovely dress!"   
  
Then Sarah said something, as did Alice and Mary and Florence . . . It seemed that they were all talking at once; their chirpy voices blending into a melody that wasn't harmonious so much as migraine-inducing.   
  
Meg prayed that she would faint and have to be hauled off to a couch in a deserted room. Sure, it would be embarrassing, but it would also be a great escape.   
  
From this thought Meg's mind wandered as Minnie began to dramatically repeat some scandalous piece of gossip, complete with elaborate hand motions.   
  
If Meg were to faint she wouldn't want to just _faint_. That would _never_ do! She would have to have someone there to catch her so she wouldn't injure herself falling to the floor. But who would be there? Well, only the girls were here now, and that was even worse than just falling to the ground. No, if Meg were going to faint, she would be caught properly- by a handsome young man who would fall madly in love with her, if he already wasn't.   
  
But which young man? Richard Ellison, Robert Birch, and Thomas Riddle were out because they were . . . _them_. Mr Ellison seemed too vociferous. Mr Birch seemed too conservative. He was much too absorbed in his work. Mr Riddle seemed nice, but she had the same problem with him that she had with the other two: she didn't know him well enough.   
  
Barring them, the only eligible bachelors around that Meg could deal with were Christian and Alphonse.   
  
Meg and Christian had been good friends long ago when they were young, but now there was that whole inheritance thing. Was he truly being nice to her, or was he just trying to win her over for the money? If he were ever to be genuinely interested in her, she would never be able to tell because she would always be wondering about money.   
  
Alphonse and Meg hadn't talked much as children because Meg liked to hang around "Christy", "Tommy", "Bobby", and "Ricky". Now he was very nice, if a little saccharine. As another plus, he knew nothing of the inheritance.   
  
"Margaret, darling, what _are_ you thinking about?" Alice asked with an irritation that snapped Meg back into reality.   
  
"Better yet 'who'," Florence added slyly. "I know that look! Who's the lucky man and does he know it yet?"   
  
Meg pressed her lips together and tried to come up with a good answer to that question. Or a good lie to get around it.   
  
  
  
  


o - }---)---) ~*~ (---(---{ - o

  
  
  
  
  
A little while later, Meg- having finally escaped the crowd of giggling girls- was looking for a deserted place she might be able to hide in for a while. There were as many people roaming the house as there were on the floor dancing and at the tables eating, so this didn't look too suspect; and she was pretty sure that no one had seen her leave the ball room, so she was safe for now if she could only find a safe room to hide away in.   
  
Unfortunately, the first room she tried was already occupied.   
  
"So are we making a habit out of running into each other in libraries?" Christian asked, an amused little smile on his face.   
  
No matter how sweet and nice Alphonse was, there was just something about him that made him unable to smile like _that_. It was like the Christian that Meg remembered was back.   
  
Meg couldn't help not being angry with him anymore.   
  
'_It's been a while since I first saw you.   
It's been a while since I could stand on my own two feet.   
It's been a while since I could say I loved myself as well.   
  
_ '_Why must I feel this way?   
Just make this go away!   
Just one more peaceful day . . ._'   
  
  
  
  


o - }---)---) ~*~ (---(---{ - o

  
  
  
  
  
Alphonse could not find Miss Lockwood anywhere and it was beginning to frustrate him.   
  
She wasn't on the dance floor, or he would have seen her. She wasn't at a table, because it was even easier to distinguish those people. She wasn't lingering around the edges of the dance floor, because he had checked there too.   
  
Politely declining a dance with some good-looking, simpering little belle on the grounds that he simply _had_ to find someone, Alphonse left the ball room. It was the only option: Miss Lockwood had to have gone somewhere else in the house.   
  
As he was looking for Miss Lockwood, Alphonse began to seriously consider finding an evil manservant or something. It was quite a dilemma: having an evil manservant would have made things like this searching for Miss Lockwood business so much easier, but Alphonse had always prided himself on not _needing_ assistance.   
  
Alphonse sighed. He would have to do things the hard way.   
  
It wasn't like this was the most difficult thing he had ever done.   
  
  
  
  


o - }---)---) ~*~ (---(---{ - o

  
  
  
  
  
They just silently sat- actually, Christian sat in his favorite chair and Meg stood near the door for about a minute, both of them looking as if the had something to say that they simply couldn't, for one reason or another.   
  
Finally, Christian spoke. "You can sit down if you want to. Here- you can even have the good chair." He got up and made a silly little bow that caused Meg to giggle.   
  
Christian was a little in awe as Meg sat down with equally silly daintiness. She didn't seem to be mad at him anymore! When had this happened?! And why was she mad at him in the first place? Had he unconsciously done something to fix it? What?   
  
"So," Meg asked, "why aren't you with all the other party-goers?"   
  
Christian shrugged. "I'm not really in much of a celebrating mood."   
  
"It's the same with me."   
  
"You never seemed like much of a party girl anyway."   
  
"What's that supposed to mean?"   
  
"Don't take offense!" Christian said quickly. "You just seem more sensible than that."   
  
"Yes," Meg said thoughtfully, "I suppose I am. After I danced with Alphonse, I got dragged away by all those girls."   
  
Christian made a derisive noise, but Meg ignored it and continued.   
  
"They started talking about dresses and marriages and people and just gossip. I would be lying if I didn't say that some of it was interesting, but most of it was just silly and boring. After about thirty minutes I had to admit that my heart wasn't in it and I left.   
  
"What about you, Christian? When did you leave?"   
  
"When you were dragged off mercilessly by those bloodsucking fiends you call 'girls'. Which somehow reminds me- you still owe me a dance."   
  
Christian flashed Meg a charming smile and she laughed.   
  
"I suppose I do, but I don't want to go back in there!"   
  
Christian grinned mischievously. "Who says we have to? Father has a phonograph in here and I have some music. Granted, it's not a waltz, but I guess we'll just have to make it up as we go."   
  
Meg raised an eyebrow. "Sounds interesting. Start up the music."   
  
  
  
  


o - }---)---) ~*~ (---(---{ - o

  
  
  
  
  
'_Where could she _possibly _be_?' Alphonse wondered. Now he was more than just a little irritated. He was downright livid. Nothing was going as he had planned at all.   
  
And now . . .   
  
"_Phonsie_, old boy!" a falsely cheerful voice called.   
  
"Richard," Alphonse said in his most chilling voice, "what could _you_ possibly want with _me_?"   
  
The voice- which usually made people stop, wide-eyed with fear- failed to even wipe the threatening smile off Rick's face. Neither did it stall Tom and Robert. And it certainly didn't stop brawny Rick from pushing Alphonse up against the wall . . . and up in the air about half a foot.   
  
"You've been doing some strange things lately, Alphonse," Robert said, his voice and face unnaturally calm, "and we'd really like to know about them. Come with us peacefully and answer our questions, and we can settle this like gentlemen."   
  
  
  
  


o - }---)---) ~*~ (---(---{ - o

  
  
  
  
  
Christian gave Meg another happy smile and put on a fairly fast tune. When it first began to play he and Meg didn't really know what to do, but then they just started moving however they felt like moving. Meg quickly got frustrated with her skirts, but managed to work around them.   
  
After only a little while, an idea came to him. He waited for an opportune time in the music and began to sing:   
  
"Don't let me hear you say life's   
taking you nowhere," here he tapped her nose, "_angel!_   
Come, get up my baby!   
  
"Look at that sky- life's begun.   
Nights are warm and the days are young.   
Come, get up my baby!"   
  
He and Meg continued to dance as he made up words that went with a song he must have heard a thousand times to have known it this well.   
  
"There's my baby: lost that's all.   
Once, I'm begging you, save her little soul!   
Golden years, gold, whop! whop! whop!   
Come; get up my baby!   
  
"Last night they loved you,   
opening doors and pulling some strings . . . _angel_.   
Come; get up my baby!   
In walked luck and you looked in time.   
Never look back, walk tall, act fine.   
Come; get up my baby!   
  
"Well, I'll stick with you baby for a thousand years.   
Nothing's gonna touch you in these golden years.   
Gold, golden years, gold, whop whop whop  
Come; get up my baby!   
  
"Some of these days, and it won't be long,   
gonna drive back down where you once belonged  
in the back of a [carriage] twenty foot long.   
Don't cry my sweet; don't break my heart.   
Doing all right, but you gotta get smart.   
Wish upon; wish upon, day upon day.   
I believe, oh Lord, I believe all the way!   
"Come; get up my baby!   
Run for the shadows, run for the shadows,   
run for the shadows in these golden years . . ."   
  
After this highly spirited dance ended, Christian and Meg collapsed onto the couch, worn out but laughing harder than either of them had in a very long time. It wasn't until much later in the night (after he had bathed, replayed the night over in his head twice, gotten ready for bed, and was laying in bed for five minutes) that Christian realized with a sinking stomach that he had just completely broken his promise to Satine-Lark.   
  
Wait- no he hadn't. He hadn't made that promise to Satine-Lark.   
  
He had made it to Satine herself.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
o - }---)---) ~*~ (---(---{ - o   
  
Thank you to everyone who reviewed! You're all so sweet to me. It really makes a person want to write, knowing that people are actually reading what you produce. : ) Sorry this chapter took so long, but the finals were really bitchy to me and I've been busy ever since.   
  
[**Loveslyric999, re Toulouse's dad**: I didn't know that! That's actually kind of cool. I was just looking for a good name for Christian's cousin. I really wasn't planning on actually using Alphonse at first; I just thought it was a kind of snobby-sounding name. I promise he's not Toulouse's father. : )]   
  
***Notes**: Hmm . . . Sophia's part got bigger than I thought it would. The minor characters will be taking over this fic before you know it! (Christian _who_?!) And Robert, what with his controlling EVERYTHING, is getting to be kind of a Prospero/God figure, isn't he? And, hang me all you want, but I couldn't help the "Fonzie/Phonsie" thing. I've actually been waiting to use it ever since I realized I was actually going to use Alphonse.   
  
***Credit**: Title from a good song by Pink. The song Meg sings in her head is a hacked-up "It's Been A While" by Staind. And, of course, the song Christian "makes up" is the fabulous "Golden Years" by David "I am Bizarrely Awesome" Bowie. Where it says "[carriage]" it's actually supposed to say "dream car"   
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
